Not a Sociopath
by sherlockian4evr
Summary: It hurts each time his lover calls himself a sociopath so John does his research. Sherlock is not a sociopath. He sets out to prove it to the detective.


They had had to deal with a new DI on a case and that had led to the inevitable pronouncement "I'm a high functioning sociopath. Do your research." If John Watson heard that just one more time there was likely to be one less consulting detective in the world.

For one thing, he _had_ done his research and found that there was no such thing as a sociopath or a psychopath for that matter. Oh, pop culture had built up quite a mythology around the two terms. For Sherlock of all people to turn to pop culture for his label was endearingly ironic.

John's research had shown that people thought psychopaths, (John couldn't help think of Moriarty), were born not made whereas sociopaths were often the victims of physical or emotional abuse or childhood trauma. Over long months of subtle probing, John had mostly convinced himself that, other than the expected difficulties of growing up brilliant in an average world, there was nothing dark hidden in Sherlock's past. (Right. There was the drug use but that didn't come into play here.) He had even met Sherlock's parents and he _liked_ them. They seemed _normal_. So, tonight, John would conduct some not-so-subtle probing.

John let the evening unfold in domestic peace. They watched crap telly. They had reached a level of compromise when it came to the telly. Sherlock was free to complain about the plot of, and realism of, each show, however he refrained from ruining the endings for John. The detective struggled with this more often than not because apparently the answer or the plot ending was obvious and he made that known enough.

Halfway through the third show of the evening, John switched off the telly and approached Sherlock. He settled on his knees into Sherlock's lap, thighs spread around Sherlock's own. John pressed a kiss into the detective's mouth, lingering to enjoy the sensation, even as his mind plotted its attack.

Sherlock nipped at John's earlobe, humming. Lost for a moment in the sensation, John curled into the detective. He forced himself to pull away. John gazed into his lover's eyes seeing love and trust in their silver depths.

After much pondering, John concluded that this would be no betrayal. He simply had to _know_.

"Sherlock, I found your box of old photos while sorting through our bedroom cupboard. It made me wonder, what was it like for you growing up?" John was sure to fill his voice with loving curiosity. It wasn't all a front, he had wondered for quite a long time, long before this issue had arisen.

Sherlock hummed and nipped again at John's earlobe before answering, his face buried in John's neck. "Boring."

John huffed at the non-answer. John placed his hands on either side of the detective's face. "I would really like to know."

Abruptly, there was a change in how Sherlock regarded John. He was now being deduced. "This is because of that idiot DI. You are concerned. I am quite aware of the research you have conducted in recent months, John. So the answer is no, I was never abused as a child. I wasn't the victim of extreme trauma. Again, my childhood was boring."

John flushed in embarrassment at being caught out. He looked away, but Sherlock turned his face back toward himself with one finger so that John was forced to meet the detective's gaze.

"Right." John managed, his voice rough. "Sorry. I should have just asked. Still, I _would_ like to know what it was like for you, growing up, I mean." Now that everything was in the open, John found that he was genuinely curious.

Sherlock allowed his head to fall back against the leather of his chair, eyes closing. "Very well." He paused. "You have met my parents. They are distressingly normal, although Mummy is quite intelligent in her chosen field. That their genes combined to result in the brilliant and unique individuals that are Mycroft and myself is quite beyond my comprehension."

Sherlock raised his head a bit and met John's eyes before allowing his head to fall back again. John rested his head against the other man's chest.

"I will never admit this again, but we were _both_ brilliant children. Our parents saw to it that we were always met with appropriate mental stimulation. They fed our need for learning, tailoring our extracurricular education to our interests. We were advanced over our peers in classes as often as deemed appropriate after social implications had been factored in. Obviously, Mycroft was advanced more often than myself as he has a better grasp on the social niceties. As to that, my parents encouraged my social growth by providing appropriate opportunities for, and guidance in social interaction; however, they never _pushed_. Rather, they accepted the level of social interactions in which I felt comfortable in engaging, never inflicting a situation that I had previously rejected on me twice. As for friends, again, I will never repeat this, Mycroft was my one true friend in childhood. He has always been overly protective, the tendency only become cloying and overbearing when I became addicted to cocaine." Sherlock tipped his head to seek out John's reaction, but John appeared unfazed, his attention rapt. "I believe it was truly an ideal childhood for someone like myself."

John couldn't help himself, he had to ask. "Then why the cocaine?"

Sherlock harrumphed. "I was an idiot, I was in uni, it was an experiment. Don't look at me like that. For once, I found myself to be very much _normal_. The drug had its hooks in me after the first hit." Sherlock paused. "I'm not proud of that time of my life. It was hard to admit that I needed help, but eventually the time came." He shook his head with vehemence. "I can't talk about that time. Not yet. I will say that my parents were very supportive. So was Mycroft in his own way. They could have turned their backs on me but they got me the help that I needed and were beside me every step of the way to recovery. Without them..."

John tightened his arms around Sherlock in a tight embrace. "I liked your parents when I met them, but now, I think I love them." His voice was rough with emotion. "Thank you for sharing, Sherlock."

John reflected on his research. So-called psychopaths were incapable of forming emotional attachments. Okay, so sociopaths were regarded as being capable of having relationships with like-minded individuals. That _did_ account for most of Sherlock's friends almost all of whom were involved some way with The Work. Even Mrs. Hudson had a past connection to one of his cases. John still wasn't convinced. He chalked this up more to opportunity for interaction than anything else.

So psychopaths were supposed to be charming, with normal appearing lives whereas sociopaths were supposed to present with abnormal lives and be incapable of holding down a job for any period of time. John decided that if Sherlock's life was abnormal it was _because_ he was so dedicated to his work.

The next point had chilled him for a moment, not because of Sherlock, but because of how accurate the pop-culture reflected Moriarty in this case. Psychopaths engaged in criminal behavior rarely got their hands dirty, planned carefully, and layered plans within plans. Sociopaths became violent in their criminal behavior, not caring for the consequences. Okay, John cringed when he remembered the CIA agent's three falls from the flat after the agent had left a mark on Mrs. Hudson's cheek.

 **No. No. No. Not a sociopath. It's** ** _not_** **Real.**

Sherlock felt John go stiff in his arms. "What's wrong, John? Where's your mind wandered to?"

The words escaped John's lips before he could stop them. "You're not a sociopath, there's no such thing!" There was an urgency to his words that surprised even him.

Sherlock laughed. "I know." He placed a kiss on John's forehead.

Anger bubbled up within John. "Never. Never say it again. Never. You are the man I love. I won't have you disparage yourself in such a way. I understand why you do it. It's your defense. Besides, you're a drama queen." John locked eyes with the detective. "I won't stand for it anymore."

With a sigh, Sherlock bowed his head to rest on John's shoulder. "We need to discuss this further. Get comfortable, John." Sherlock assisted the doctor in finding a more comfortable position in Sherlock's lap before resuming the discussion.

"During rehab, I was diagnosed with Antisocial Personality Disorder. It was the opinion of the facility's psychiatrist that I exhibited not only three of the required characteristics for the disorder but all seven. He cited the following behaviors as being of concern: breaking and flaunting the law, lying and deceiving of others, impulsivity, aggressiveness, having little regard for the safety of others, being irresponsible in meeting financial obligations, and lack of remorse or guilt." Sherlock sighed, his face a mask. "Some days, I even believe it."

John's heart hurt for the detective. The psychiatrist was an idiot but before he could say so, Sherlock continued, "I would never call myself a 'drama queen' John, however, the term sociopath is better understood by the public and does have a finer _ring_ to it."

Although people who didn't know Sherlock well would probably claim that all seven characteristic traits applied to the man, John didn't buy it for a minute. At the very least, the doctor was going to prove that point to Sherlock.

"Sherlock, that psychiatrist was _wrong_." John could tell that Sherlock didn't entirely believe him. "Right. Let's look at each trait and see if it really applies to you, yeah?"

The detective gave a reluctant nod. "John, you know as well as I do that I'm not afraid to break laws. I even pickpocket Greg."

John smiled. "I've only known you to break laws in the course of The Work. As for pickpocketing Greg, that's a running joke between friends and you know it."

Sherlock didn't argue the points but insisted, "I lie. Often."

John wasn't to be dissuaded. "Again, only in the course of The Work. Once to save lives, when you fell. You've never lied for any other reason that I know of. Or am I wrong?"

Sherlock shook his head. "You are correct."

This time, John forestalled Sherlock. "Don't even tell me you're impulsive. Your mind works so rapidly, Sherlock, that your actions _appear_ to be impulsive. You always have a plan. They are just spun on the spot." The doctor plunged onward. "You only fight in self defense and you _are_ aggressive toward anyone who threatens those you care about. But so am I. Bloody hell, I shot a man to save your life practically the first time we met." John was on a roll. "The only people that you have little regard for their safety is the criminal element, but you care about others. You bury your feelings during cases, but let someone die during the course of The Work and you punish yourself for days."

Finally, Sherlock interrupted John. "I don't pay my bills on time."

John laughed. "Very few people do, Sherlock. I take care of that for both of us. As for the last point, you do feel guilt. I know that for a fact. When I mentioned your fall a moment ago, you were radiating guilt. So." John kissed Sherlock firmly. "You do not have Antisocial Personality Disorder."

Slowly, a look of stunned disbelief worked its way across Sherlock's face, followed by a look of wonder. "John, you are amazing." There was a softness to Sherlock's words that John had never heard before. During their brief conversation, something had been broken open and healed inside the detective.

Eyes closed, Sherlock spoke. "I love you so very much."


End file.
